There it is again, that age. The burden. All the most beautiful things in the world hide all the worst poisons, and Bruce has a brief, visceral moment of sharp curiosity. What does the portrait look like, after all this time? What is Dorian's true face?

(He knows his own, after all.)

"I think I'd prefer not to leave you alone, if it's all the same to you." Bruce exerts a little of his will, and the decay grinds to a halt around them, and the city streets smell of Gotham. It isn't a pleasant scent, oil and exhaust and decay both urban and otherwise. A street sign that's been painted over to say Crime Alley is in the distance, but the landscape fades back to Manhattan after a moment, and twists before it settles back to the time and era of Dorian's choosing.